The Death of My Sorrows, by C., from the Vault

Last night I met my shadow.

In the old Cedar Grove Cemetery, she waited patiently for me at dusk under the fragrant magnolia blooms and dangling Spanish moss. The only sounds suspended in the still, Southern air were the squish of wet grass under my sandaled feet and the gentle cooing of a distant mourning dove.

“My Dearest Heart,” she said to me, “it is time to unleash your soul. Unpack your sorrows and leave them here with me. Your fears, big and small. Your guilt, shame, and grief. Your untruths, disconnects, and spiritual darknesses. Let us bury them in this peaceful place of final rest so that you may be unburdened. So that you may stand tall and free in your fearlessness, embrace your creativity and let it flow, find strength in your power, and allow love, for yourself and others. So that you may speak your truths, foster connection, and be one with divinity. So that you may witness your sacred path of pure Love and Light, and spread that beautiful bounty to others.

My Dearest Heart, surrender. Hand over your woes, unshackle your soul. Embody the brilliance that shines through your sparkling brown eyes and walk freely, authentically, gracefully through this life.”

As the sun went down and my shadow slowly dissipated, her words ran through my body with a distinct shiver of awareness and renewal. I turned away from the crypt where my shadow had been dancing, following the long, oyster shell path out of the cemetery. I stepped through the Weeping Arch into the dark, quiet streets of New Bern.

Breathing in the late June air, I felt the peaceful song of the dove and the ultimate death of my sorrows fill my soul with liberation.

The Yoga, Writing, and Recovery community meets again on May 11 at 7 pm EDT. For information on how to join us, please sign up here.

Within The Altar That Is This Body..., by K., from 2/27/22

Within the altar that is this body resides a piece of the whole.

This piece of the whole is on a journey to love this body.

A journey to thank this body for staying strong despite some heavy blows.

A journey to embrace being in this body and enjoying the human experience.

A journey of unlearning all the ways this piece of the whole was told this is not a good body, 

A too big body,

You need to lose weight body,

A why can’t you look like the others body.

A journey of taking back the home this piece of the whole chose to reside in and take this crazy life ride in.

A journey this piece of the whole is learning to love being in this unique body,

Thanking it for taking this piece of the whole as far as it has to witness the beauty in this world.

Within the altar that is this body, 

Resides a piece of the whole

A magnificent soul

A soul that thanks this body for helping it grow,

To find its way back to the whole

Thanks to K. for your YWR Blog submission. Join us on second Wednesday evenings, starting April 13, 2022, from 7-9:00 pm ET for The Brahmaviharas: Unlocking the Heart, a Yoga, Writing, and Recovery workshop series. Contact me for information, or submit writings here .

Sea of Dogs, by me, from 3/27/22

Within the altar

that is this body

I can

comprehend the word

serenity

and sometimes, I can know

peace

So aware of physicality and mortality, this body

aged 48 years and some months

standing there, after the 5k to benefit

homeless dogs

This body pumped full with fresh

endorphins

which carries its stories

thrown over the shoulder like a gunny sack

awkwardly straining

under a lifetime of weight

slammed down, spilling its visceral memory

into present reality

in moments of stark relief

like this one

on crystalline frigid breezy days

blooms flying off spring trees

The dogs lined up with their humans

there must have been

hundreds

legions of dog owners fawning, tugging leashes

and surveying the uneasy scene

preparing for the one mile walk.

Some dogs sleeping, others barking,

some greeting one another as dogs will do

nose to butt, making a chain of two or three

or even four at a time.

It certainly wasn’t serene, and yet it was.

I stood there by the DJ station

blaring Whitney Houston through the speakers

I want to dance with somebody

with somebody who loves me.

So overcome with the sight

I could see their little furry souls, I think

Glimmering shining innocent things

waiting for they knew not what

Tails wagging, or tucked

All of it laid out, right there

I was overcome by the sight.

It was too much for me.

I was happy

and holding lots of things inside

something had to give

I want to dance with somebody

with somebody who loves me.

And so I threw my arms around my husband’s

also aging body

I couldn’t help it.

Within a millisecond I was sobbing

into his sweaty

shoulder.

So much tenderness in the moment

So much happening at once

And yet, the one thing was

I was happy

It was a sea of dogs

I was happy in a sea of dogs

It felt like love

It felt like bliss

Was it bliss?

I don’t know.

What I do know is dog spelled backward is

G O D

Perspective Shift, by J., from 2/14/22

As a little girl, I often hid in the bathroom. I would lock myself in with a book, sitting over the heat vent. It was the warmest place in our perpetually freezing house. Anytime I asked to turn the heat up, my mother would shout at me, ‘You’re going to make us homeless. We can’t afford that! What’s wrong with you?’ 

So, I would sit in the bathroom, soaking up the heat and waiting for the inevitable moment she’d bang on the door screaming. The storm could come at any time, so I would listen for her footsteps in the hall. When it finally did come, it was always when I least expected it, when I was so deeply lost in my book, I forgot I was sitting on a bathroom floor. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! ‘You’ve been in there forever! What’s wrong with you? Can’t you poop? It shouldn’t take this long! You’re just being lazy!’

I’d jump up and scramble, frantically flushing the toilet and washing my hands. She waited in the hall, and I knew I’d stayed too long. Tucking my book under my arm, I’d ready myself for a mad dash past her. I’d open the door, ready to dodge and run, but there wasn’t enough room in the narrow hallway. She’d grab my arm and yank it, my book falling to the floor.

‘Is this what you were doing for so long? Other people need to use the bathroom too. You’re so selfish.’ 

I’d mutter something about the second bathroom, but that was a mistake. She’d yank harder and twist my arm for sassing her. I wouldn’t get away until I apologized and gave her my book. 

I knew my mother wasn’t a great mother, but mostly, I blamed myself. Other people were abused, not me. They suffered broken bones and scars. Yeah, I got spanked with wooden spoons, but that was only when I was bad. It wasn’t random. It was my fault. 

As an adult, I was too pretentious, throwing my multiple degrees in my high-school-educated mother’s face. I was too difficult, getting frustrated when she insisted all holidays happened at her house. My sister and I would joke about needing a glass of wine to call her. It was funny, needing alcohol to deal with her. 

My perspective changed when I finally realized my mother was abusive. I wish I could say it happened right away, but it was years of therapy, and journaling, and depressing self-help books. Someone asked me if I would treat a child like my mother treated me. Of course I wouldn’t. It was horrible. I wouldn’t treat a dog like that…Oh. 

My mother stopped by the house one day, bragging how she had taken our niece and nephew to a pumpkin patch. My alcoholic sister had canceled the trip I had planned with them…twice. I wasn’t in the mood to look at pictures. I pretended to fix something and I walked away. Irate, my mother left without saying goodbye, my good-natured father following in her wake. 

Weeks later, my father called. I needed to apologize. If I didn’t, she wouldn’t invite us to Christmas. I almost did apologize. Maybe I should have been more sensitive. Maybe I could have just looked at the damn pictures. She was my mother, and she deserved better. My mother couldn’t yank my arm anymore, but she sure could twist my heart around.

But did she deserve better? I knew by this point, she had been both emotionally and physically abusive. My sister named it before I was able to. My therapist had confirmed it. My mother didn’t make me drink. My mother made me believe it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that I drank till I blacked out because I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself. But after all of that inner work, I began to wonder if maybe I was the one who deserved better.

So, I didn’t call her. I didn’t apologize. My husband and I spent a quiet Christmas alone with our puppy. It was a little sad but mostly peaceful. The biggest surprise was that I stayed sober. It was just a few weeks at first. I’d done that before, but I started going to meetings regularly. I started texting and calling people in the program for help, something I had never done before. Day-by-day, I realized it wasn’t selfish to want sobriety. It wasn’t selfish to set boundaries and expect them to be honored. I didn’t have to hide from the cold, instead I could work to warm my whole house. I don’t blame my mother for my problems with alcohol. I take responsibility for my actions. But I still haven’t spoken to my mother, and I’m still sober. I’m too smart to think that those things aren’t related.

Thanks to J. for being our very first YWR Blog submission. Join us on Sunday evenings 7-8:30 pm ET through March 27 to practice, write, and share. Contact me for information, or submit writings here .

YWR Blog is Here!

I’m so excited to launch the Yoga, Writing, and Recovery Blog. This is a community space sharing writings from the YWR community. We’re practicing and writing together each week on Sunday evenings from 7-8:30 pm ET. If you are interested in joining our group, please message me!

Submissions to the YWR Blog can be made here. I’m happy to either offer private feedback, or post your writings to the Blog. (I’ll only use your first initial to identify you.)